


Shaking off the Rust

by Tabithian



Series: Glitter and Gold [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5065006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason's going to go ahead and blame this on his shit luck because why the hell not, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shaking off the Rust

**Author's Note:**

> (Once again, I seem to be writing things out of order?) Takes place before [Glitter and Gold](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5056348). That time when Jason met Tim and that drone of his.

Jason's going to go ahead and blame this on his shit luck because why the hell not, really.

“Christ.”

He's a little stabbed, a whole lot fucked because the asshole who stabbed him took his supplies after leaving Jason for dead. Okay, maybe he's more than a little stabbed, but it didn't take, which is pretty great, and look at that! 

All patched up and ready to go, everything's gravy. 

(Besides, Jason's pretty sure he went down more to the hit to the back of his head than being stabbed, anyway.) 

The only thing Jason has on him are the clothes on his back - that now have a nice little vent to let the blood out and gentle breeze in on those hot summer days Gotham's known for. His backup gun and a spare magazine to with it, that knife Dick gave him because why not gift weapons to family members, and a sorry energy bar that got a little bit crushed that time Jason was being stabbed.

He's in unknown territory at night with a storm brewing over head, hurt, bleeding, and pretty goddamn miserable.

Also, he's pretty sure there's a pack of infected on his trail, just to round out the whole completely fucked thing he has going on right now.

Probably not what Bruce and Dick intended when they saddled Jason with the mission of tracking down the weird as hell readings they were getting from a radio tower outside Gotham, but. You know, Jason's shit luck.

His shit luck and making the mistake of thinking one of his contacts out here in the wilds of nowhere might not be in a stabby mood, but. 

Wow, no, was Jason ever wrong on that one.

Somewhere behind him there's a high pitched cry that hits just right to raise the hair on the back of his neck, get that fight or flight reaction going _hard_. Like a wolf's howl, only something that might come from a human's throat – or something that used to be human – terrifying shrieks close behind as it trails off, like a pack of goddamned hounds on the hunt.

“This is such bullshit,” Jason mutters, picking up the pace. “Such goddamned bullshit.”

********

Jason's maybe a mile away from the radio tower when he catches a glimpse of something winging through the trees. 

Little blur of red that gleams like metal when the moonlight hits it.

Jason tracks it through the trees, eyes narrowing as he follows its movements. A drone, most likely, but not like the ones they have in Gotham or the other standing cities. Big, ugly things bristling with cameras and sensors that hover high over any potential danger the infected might offer, covering the territories and Gotham itself in tight grids. Deployed in areas it wouldn't be a good idea to send a human into, infected or not.

This thing.

Small, fast, maneuverable as hell the way it makes its way through the trees in its way. Banks hard, and comes back towards Jason, closer now like whoever is controlling it wants to get a better look at him, which. Given his current run of luck, is probably a bad thing.

Jason shifts his stance for balance and raises his gun, waiting to see what's going to happen.

The drone keeps coming, and this close Jason can see it's designed after some kind of bird. Sharp beak, bright eyes that glow softly in the dark, and sleek little wings.

His finger squeezes on the trigger when the damn thing keeps coming, fast and potentially deadly because metal object flying at speed right at his head - 

And it slips to the side at the last minute, so close Jason can feel the rush of displaced air, mechanical whir and click as its wings work to keep it alight, and then its gone, echoing trill of birdsong filtering back to Jason.

“What the hell?”

Jason turns in the direction the stupid thing disappeared in, but all he sees are the trees around him, dark shadowy forms that change and shift with the wind.

It's a good bet whatever – whoever – is responsible for the weird readings and the drone are connected, and they know Jason's coming.

“Fantastic,” Jason mutters. “Things just get better and better.”

********

Did Jason mention his shit luck? 

Because he has shit luck.

The kind that ends up with him being declared KIA when really he just managed to get himself infected as all hell and the super happy fun times that followed, waiting to see if he was going to turn into this mindless shambling mess of raw instinct and zero concept of personal hygiene. 

Kind of a stressful time in his life, really.

Not quite the level of stress he's feeling right now, pack of infected on his heels and that goddamned radio tower right in front of him. All tall and looming and over this little bunker built at the top of a hill, nice clearing around it that's overgrown and unkempt. Wire fencing that's been completely torn down on one side, twisted and mangled and sharp stabby bits covered in rust poking up.

“For fuck's sake,” Jason mutters, ripping the sleeve of his jacket free. “Like things aren't bad enough, now I have to worry about tetanus?”

(Okay, no. The time to worry about that would have been when he was stabbed and all that nice dirt and mud he kind of flailed himself to consciousness in, but you know. Priorities.)

There's a disconcerting rumbling moan from the infected, no longer capable of human speech and really, it's a goddamn blessing they aren't because God only knows what kind of crap they'd be spewing. His luck, it'd be like something from the old zombie movies, long drawn out groans of _brains, braiiiiins_.

If there's any good news to be found here, or, you know, the kind assholes like Jason thrive on, it's that the asshole who tried to kill him is part of the pack of infected that's been following him this whole time.

Poetic justice, really.

“What's the password?”

Jason's head snaps around to the door to the bunker and what he thought was a broken intercom covered in scratches and dings, and a deep gouge on one corner of its panel. What looks disturbingly like a smeared hand print over the speaker grill that's a dark rusty color under the light over the door, and Jason's going to stop thinking about that now.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Jason asks, fires off a round that goes through the head of an infected that's gotten too close for comfort. “You can see what's going on down here, right?”

That drone is circling overhead, wide lazy sweeps, and Jason can see what looks like a security camera trained on him and his really fucking persistent friends.

“You look like you have things handled.”

There's a low buzzing noise through the speaker, little flares and pops that distorts the little shit's voice.

Jason glares up at the security camera. “When I'm done here I'm going to kick your ass,” Jason snarls.

(There's a reason Jason wasn't allowed to speak at the press conferences Bruce and the others organized even before he became infected.)

“Nice.”

Jason sighs, glances over to where another infected is creeping closer, little bit bolder than her friends.

He doesn't know what the situation is inside the bunker, could end up walking into a nice little trap where the handful of bullets and his knife won't do him much good. Or he could take his chances out here with the infected.

Slow-moving and sluggish in the cold, but they outnumber him and are disgustingly persistent, relentless. He could take his time, line up his shots nice and slow and use up the last of bullets making himself a nice soft target for whoever is inside the bunker. (Softer, at any rate. Jason's pretty good with a knife, and he's not too shabby at hand-to-hand.)

“Look,” Jason says, tries for patience even though he doesn't have a hell of that left just now. “Please let me in so I don't die?”

There's a considering pause, and then the drone dives, flash of red and shriek like a battle cry.

Jason jerks back, away from the bunker, gun coming up because what the _hell_. 

“Hold still, or she might take your eye out,” Jason hears, and freezes.

Feels a rush of air and hears the sound of the drone's wings, and a moment later a surprisingly heavy weight settling on his shoulder, feet digging into the fabric of his jacket.

“Nice.”

“What the hell - “

Birdsong in his ear and a sharp pain as the damn drone tugs on his hair, Jason turning his head to glare and sees the infected woman almost within arm's reach.

“Oh, for - “ 

Jason drops her, nice and easy with a bullet between the eyes and looks expectantly at the drone.

It looks back, head cocked to one side.

“Close the door after yourself, wouldn't want to let a draft in,” Jason hears, sharp little pop and snap and smell of fried circuitry, little puff of smoke as the intercom finally gives up the ghost.

A deeper clank, little clunk, and the locking mechanisms on the bunker's door disengage.

The drone chirps, odd metallic echo, and Jason takes that as his cue and pushes the door open.

********

Someone – presumably the asshole Jason's been talking to – has made a token effort to keep the bunker's corridors clear. 

Whatever happened here when things went to hell, happened with a fury. Like a goddamned riot went down in a tightly confined area. A few rooms are blocked off, someone stringing yellow caution tape across them, and Jason's not feeling curious enough to investigate.

Not when he can see bullet holes in the walls, signs that that people didn't go down easy here, and it's even odds not all of it was down to the infected.

The drone warbles softly to itself when they pass those rooms, which makes Jason wonder if there's more to it than being a simple drone. Maybe limited AI – God knows people are fucking around with that in Gotham and the other cities right now. Trying to find ways to prevent putting people at risk in areas like this one.

Finally they hit the lowest level of the bunker and the drone pushes off from Jason's shoulder, zips down the corridor and takes a sharp turn into what looks like a makeshift command center. Computers and monitors and startlingly small figure seated in front of the them, drone trilling and chirping at him from it's perch on his shoulder.

This might, might, explain the weird readings they'd been finding. Someone setting up camp like this, tapping into Gotham's feeds from what Jason can see on the monitors. Setting up a few of his own.

Barbara's definitely going to want to know about this.

“I thought you'd be bigger,”Jason says.

The figure snorts, flash of teeth in the dim lighting and leans back to type some kind of command on a keyboard that brings the lights up in the room.

“You'd be surprised how often I get that,” the kid says, and it is a kid.

Stupidly tiny with a stupidly big smirk on his face. 

“I'm Tim, by the way.”

Jason looks at the kid, fucking _Tim_.

“Kind of trusting, aren't you?” he asks, because really. If Jason was the vindictive sort (he is, but for a good cause) he'd be making good on his earlier threat.

Tim shrugs, runs a light finger over the drone's head, and it makes a soft little noise of happiness. 

“Kind of bleeding, aren't you?”

Jason opens his mouth to – what, argue? Protest? 

Pointless, really, when the little shit's right.

“Little bit, yeah.”

********

Jason's not all that surprised when Tim tells him he needs stitches. He's a little surprised when Tim offers to do it for him, little shrug and twitch of a smile.

“I've got practice.”

Which.

Kind of disturbing, in that Tim seems to be alone out here, aside from that damn drone. (And you know, all the evidence of a messy end for an unknown amount of people in the bunker, the blocked off rooms.)

“That - ” Jason says, eyeing the tiny little weirdo. “That doesn't make you seem at all creepy, in case you were wondering.”

Tim _grins_ , like _oh, no, he's perfectly aware, thanks anyway, though!_

Christ.

“Yeah, sure, why not,” Jason says. “Knock yourself out.”

********

“So what's your story?” Jason asks.

Tim's back at his command center, flipping through various feeds coming from Gotham.

Jason catches a glimpse of Cass', smirks to himself at Roy's, all the other idiots who volunteered to go out into the territories in danger of becoming infected every damn time they head back out. His eyes narrow when Tim pauses over Jason's, cursor rolling over the icons to view older pictures and videos he's uploaded.

He needs to get word back to Bruce, Dick that hey, still not dead, sooner or later. It's been a few days since he added anything to his feed.

Maybe if he asks Tim nicely enough, he'll let him use the equipment he has here.

“Not much to tell, really,” Tim says, so very careful. 

“My family is originally from Gotham. They took me along with them to Metropolis on a business trip when this happened,” Tim says, waving a hand around them. “They didn't want to risk trying to make it back when I was younger, but.”

Tim laughs, a dark little thing that makes Jason frown.

“I guess they thought I was old enough, or maybe they got tired of waiting, I don't know. We - “ Tim swallows, resting his cheek against the drone nestled against his neck. “We almost made it back when a group of infected found us.”

Jason doesn't say anything. Doesn't need to, when Tim has the kind of scars that come from surviving the Clench. A few more, besides, but it's not like scars are all that rare these days with the way the world is.

Tim looks at Jason, sits up with something like determination on his face.

“I – Can I ask you for a favor? It's important.”

Considering Tim saved Jason's life by letting him in here, that's a definite yes.

“I think I could swing something, sure,” Jason answers.

Tim snorts, look of relief in his eyes before he turns to dig through one of the piles by his computers. 

“I need you to – could you see this gets to my parents? They're in Gotham.”

_What._

Tim won't look at Jason as he hands over a little box, edges worn smooth like Tim's run his fingers over them again and again for who knows how long.

“They,” he laughs, hands shaking a little, and he still won't look at Jason. “Jack and Janet Drake, I think you know of them.”

********

Oh, Jason knows all about Jack and Janet Drake.

He knows about the people who run what's left of Drake Industries, tragic, noble figures who lost their son years ago to an attack from infected as they were making their way back to Gotham. All the ways they've risen in Gotham's social circles because of their strength in the face of such a loss.

Goddamned celebrities in Gotham, all over the news feeds. Long-time business partners with Wayne Enterprises, and Jason thinks he's going to be sick.

“Christ.”

Tim laughs, this quiet little thing as he scoops the drone up and holds it close to his chest.

“I know you probably won't be able to get past the border guards, but you know people who could get that to them.”

Jason crouches next to Tim who's curled down in his chair. This cobbled together mess that shouldn't work and yet somehow does. Like Tim's computers and monitors and everything in this fucking room, the goddamned bunker.

“Tim.”

Tim shakes his head, says, “What choice did they have? You know what everyone thinks about the Clench, you have to. So when I became infected - “

Tim breaks off, can't seem to finish what he's trying to say, but Jason knows.

The Clench is this horrible, ugly thing that more often than not spits out some mindless, shambling _creature_ that isn't human anymore but you don't realize that until it's too late. Like something out of a horror movie, fantastical and this side of ridiculous, and that's probably why so many people ended up infected before anyone realized what was happening.

Unwilling to think something like that could actually happen, that the movies couldn't have gotten it right, no, it's just fiction. (Like there weren't enough real world examples around before that.)

Sometimes, though. Through dumb luck or sheer happenstance, you get people like Jason, like Tim.

The ones who come out the other side a little worse for wear, but still undeniably alive, _human_. 

“They left you behind.”

Jason can't even say it would have been a mercy to kill Tim instead of leaving him to die the way they had. Can't say who's in the wrong here, if anyone because the Clench and everything that followed after ripped the world apart, turned it into something new, different, demanding in ways no one was prepared for.

Tim looks up at Jason through his hair, uneven fringe falling into his eyes.

“We were traveling in a group,” Tim says.

It makes sense, really, given the distance between Metropolis and Gotham. Jason's willing to bet they ran into more than one nest of infected, but all it takes is one little slip, which Tim knows all too well.

“There was a woman making the trip with her daughter. When I became infected, she chose to stay with me because she had medical training, and. She tried to make her daughter go with the group, but she fought.”

Tim lifts his head, and there's. Faint little smile at the corners of his mouth.

“We ended up here,” Tim says, slides a finger along one of the drone's wings and gets a questioning trill as it comes out of the light charge mode it was in. 

And apparently Tim never left.

“Where are they now?”

Tim tips his head to the side, like he's thinking. Trying to decide if he should tell Jason.

“One of the settlements outside of Gotham,” he says, tired little quirk to his mouth. “They refuse to cross into Gotham.”

There are dozens of encampments and settlements just outside of Gotham's borders, just like all the other standing cities. People who are infected and can't gain entry, or the stubborn ones who won't cross past the borders for any number of reasons. Hundreds, thousands of people barely scraping by, and someone with medical training is a godsend.

Jason isn't surprised that the kind of person who'd stay with a kid infected with the Clench would choose that rather than a place like what Gotham's turned into.

********

“You watch these often?” Jason asks, coming in to see Tim back in front of his command center watching the feeds

Tim shrugs, leans back in his chair, acting like nothing happened, everything's fine.

Both of them so careful not to mention anything they talked about the night before. The box Tim had given Jason back in the room Tim had offered him the night before.

“From time to time. It pays to know what's going on out there.”

True enough, but.

“What about your drone?”

Given the size of it, it's not likely to be a long-range drone. 

Tim blinks, reaches up to where the thing's perched on his shoulder.

“Redbird?”

“You named it?”

“Her,” Tim corrects. “And why wouldn't I?”

There's a look in Tim's eye that's more than a little bit defensive, and Jason's reminded of the fact that Tim's out here well beyond Gotham's boundaries on his own and he's comfortable with it. 

He didn't really seem all that worried about the infected at his door, even though he has to know a determined group of infected could get inside, not to mention any number of people living outside the cities looking for a safe place to hole up.

“How smart is she?” Jason asks.

Tim shrugs, looking away from Jason as he answers. “I'm not really sure, she keeps surprising me.”

See, it's things like that. Jason getting a better look at Tim's setup here, the way he managed to tap into the feeds – the whole damn reason Jason's out here right now – that kind of pisses Jason off.

He doesn't know the full story behind Tim's Redbird, but considering what Drake Industries has been doing with their AI program, he has a good idea.

“Tim,” Jason says, and he'd been up all night trying to find a way to do this delicately, the way Bruce is forever harping on him about. (Not like Jason's incapable of that sort of thing, he just doesn't have the patience for it these days.)

That, and Tim's a little shit.

Jason's not about to forget Tim giving him shit while facing down a pack of infected any time soon.

“Sorry to do this, but I'm kidnapping you.”

Tim blinks at him, Redbird letting out a questioning chirp.

“Seriously, though,” Jason says, moving loser to Tim, who just watches him. “I mean, how attached to this place are you really?”

It's a nice little getaway and everything. Secluded spot in the woods and all that, but. 

Infected. And crazy nomadic assholes who are really just bandits with a romantic spin on it thanks to the news feeds.

And, sure. Tim's been here for years, maybe out doing some scouting of his own for food and supplies. Hell, maybe even to whatever settlement his nurse-friend and her daughter ended up at – this place isn't that far from Gotham, but it sounds like a lonely way of life. 

They could use Tim, someone with his skills, abilities. God knows Barbara would be interested in him, and Bruce too, once he hears Tim's story. 

Tim has this look on his face, like he's coming up with all these reasons to say no, tell Jason's he's some kind of crazy himself, but.

There's the look in his eyes that's - 

Fuck, it kind of hurts to see, really. 

All these things Jason doesn't want to give name to because they shouldn't be there in the first fucking place, and just. 

“Most kidnappers probably don't give the kidnappee a warning, you realize.”

Jason shrugs, offers Tim a little smile. “Most kidnappers aren't me.”

True, because Jason's never actually kidnapped anyone.

“Oh, well. In that case, sure, why not.” Tim says, rolling his eyes. “Count me in.”

Christ. 

********

Jason's going to be here a while, it seems. Working on convincing Tim that going back to Gotham with Jason is a great idea. Like hell is Jason about to say leave the little shit out here on his own like this.

Who knows, maybe Tim will get the chance to give that fucking box to his parents himself.

**Author's Note:**

> *hands*


End file.
